Runes of Disillusionment
by maturebel
Summary: Clarissa Morgenstern grew up under the strict rules of her father, alongside her brother, Jonathan. Fully believing Valentine's versions of the past and his tale about her mother's death, Clary wants nothing more than to bring down the Clave. However, when Valentine sends her to infiltrate the New York Institute, a certain golden eyed boy makes her question all she took for fact.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello darling readers! I would like to thank all of you for clicking on my story and hope you will enjoy reading it. Before we begin, I have a few things to say. One: obviously, I don't own the Mortal Instruments or any of the characters in this story. But if you're here, you probably already knew this. Second: at the start of each chapter will be italicized song lyrics along with the title and artist of said song. All songs that have inspired me to write this story that I personally believe fit well to the storyline have been compiled into a Spotify playlist you can find by searching "Runes of Disillusionment" on Spotify or messaging me to get the link. Not necessary, but cool if you want the story's ~full experience~. Each song goes with a particular character or scene in the story. Thank you all so much for indulging this uninteresting wall of text!**

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 _I said mama was insane,_

 _And daddy was a criminal_

 _\- "Mustang Kids" by Zella Day_

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Breathe in. Run the blade cleanly from the left side of the neck to the right, successfully severing the head from it's prop; tilt the blade up slightly at the end to topple the head to the side. Breathe out. Spin on my heel and repeat the actions with the figure behind me. Pause. Assess the damage, and think about what you could have done better.

The same words that always run through my head during training run through it now - in Father's voice. I grit my teeth and look at the sad looking dummies, all headless and all lying limp around my feet. I curl my lip and drive my blade through the chest of the nearest one, putting so much force into the thrust that the floor grates at the tip of the blade with a low groan.

"Clarissa." I turn, pushing a lock of red curls that has escaped from my ponytail behind my ear. Jonathan stands in the doorway, watching me with a smirk on his face. His eyes run from me to the decapitated dummies and then back to me. I pointedly stick out my bottom lip at him and grind the blade into the floor before releasing the handle, letting it stick in the floorboards. Jonathan's silvery blonde hair is wet and hangs limp arond his face - he must have just showered. "Father wants to talk to you."

I kick one of the dummies out of my path, making my way across the small training room in our apartment. "What about?" I ask, running my hands along my waist out of habit. Four dagger blades run under my fingers, a familiar and comforting weight at my belt. Jonathan's eyes flick from my hands to my face.

"Not sure." I lift an eyebrow at him. He's using the tone he often uses when he's hiding something. He pretends not to notice, and turns his black eyes away from me. "Good luck," is all he says, and he disappears down the hall.

I frown after him. Jonathan has always seemed to know more about me than I do about him. I smooth down my black training shirt and go in the opposite direction from Jonathan, towards Father's office. I knock on the mahogany door, two times, then once. "Come in," rings out from behind the solid slab of wood.

I push the door open. Father sits at his desk, which is directly in the middle of his study. The dark wood floor is covered with a thick red rug that seems to dissolve any promise of an echo. The windows behind him show a snowy landscape, though just this morning it was sunny outside. We must have moved again. "Jonathan said you wanted to see me?" I lean against the door.

He looks up, a strict smile set across his face. "Sit, Clarissa." I do, in the chair across from his. He clicks the point of a ballpoint pen in and out, filling the air with sound. "I wanted to talk to you about runes."

I sit up straighter. Save the Voyance rune on the back of my right hand that allows me to see through glamours I got at age twelve, Father hasn't let me draw Marks, or given me a stele. Jonathan, on the other hand, has runes etched darkly across his pale arms, neck, and chest - which I've always found unfair. I'm a shadowhunter too, after all. "Yes?" I inquire, twisting my slightly sweaty fingers together in my lap.

"You have studied up on them, I trust?" His dark eyes are wide and searching.

I nod, forcing myself not to show enthusiasm. Father has told me more than once that enthusiasm is not a trait he likes to see in his children, unless there is a cause that is _obvious_ and _reasonable._ "Of course."

He smiles. "Oh, you always have been so enamored with them, Clarissa." He leans back in his chair and sets the pen down on his desk. Without the clicking, the room sounds too quiet. "I think it's time that you are allowed a stele of your own. But," he continues smoothly, "first you will have t prove that you have the responsibility of a shadowhunter. Of a Morgenstern." He says our last name with an air of proud finality.

"Yes. Anything. Whatever you need me to do." My pulse pounds in my wrists. Maybe he's sending me out on a mission likes he does with Jonathan. Maybe he finally thinks I'm ready to fight with him. Maybe he'll even let me leave the apartment. Unlike Jonathan, he keeps me under strict lock and key. I'm allowed a shopping day supervised by Jonathan once a month to buy new clothing and anything else I might need. Other than that, Father only lets me out on missions to kill demons that he sets up and takes me on. I know why, of course.

As if reading my train of thought, Father nods. "You remember what I taught you, Clarissa. The Clave doesn't trust you. They don't trust me. In fact, they would be quite cheerful if I was to turn up dead." Despite his heavy words, his tone is light and airy. "All because of the Uprising. Shadowhunter turned against shadowhunter, and parabatai against parabatai. Downworlders sided with the shadowhunters who wanted to kill mundanes for sport. Vampires especially. My side, the side devoted to keeping the mundanes out of harm's way, was defeated. I barely got you and Jonathan out alive. You mother...she wasn't so lucky."

I swallow hard at the mention of my mother. Father gave me one picture of her, from their wedding day. She looked utterly beautiful - red hair tired up effortlessly, gold dress glimmering in the Idris sun, smile as bright as freshly fallen snow. Father says I look just like her. Looking at the radiant woman in the photograph, I'm tempted to disagree. I will never look that graceful. "It was us or her," I remind Father. "You chose us, and it's what she would have wanted."

A shadow crosses his irises. "Yes. It is what she would have wanted, Clarissa." He allows a moment of silence to stretch between us. I trace the Voyance rune with my left pointer fingernail. "So, for your mission." He smiles at me, a real and genuine one. I smile too. He's going to let me prove myself. "I have relocated the apartment to New York City." I think to the maps of the world Father made me study, the hard schooling he drilled into me. Everyone knows about New York City. He lifts an eyebrow at me expectantly.

"New York City," I recite carefully. "Largest US city by population. Of New York state, 'the Empire State'. Capital, Albany."

Father looks pleased. "Good, Clarissa. So, as you know, some of those who fought with me in the Uprising joined the other side as a last ditch attempt to save their own hides." His proud smile melts into a scowl of distaste. "Among them, those I thought I could trust. Those I did trust, with my life. Maryse and Robert Lightwood. And, as it turns out, their four children: Alexander, Isabelle, Maxwell, and _Jace."_ He says the last word like it's something dirty.

"Cowards," I supply. Father nods.

"Indeed, Clarissa. So here is my task for you. Runeless, you will turn up in the city and let them find you, let them take you into their Institute. Once you are inside, gain their trust. Slowly but surely, I need you to convince them that your mother-" he breaks off before continuing, "-was killed in front of you, by someone who was boasting about murdering Valentine. That you have dreams about this figure, and need time to figure it out." He is not smiling anymore.

I nod slowly. "So. I turn up and let them 'save me.' I pretend to know nothing of the shadow world. Then I tell them my mother was murdered by a man who killed Valentine, and that my dreams over a course of time will reveal who he is." I pause. "Your name is Valentine."

Father nods. "Yes. It will put them off my trail. Now, remember this. Jonathan will be watching your progress."

I smile a little bit, not enough to show my rapid heartbeat and fluttering stomach. "I will not disappoint you."

"There is an issue, Clarissa. Your Voyance rune. If you know nothing of the shadow world, you would not have it." His voice is gravelly, with a hint of...what? Fascination? Intrigue?

I frown. "It's a permanent rune, Father."

"I know," he says. "But I believe I've found a way to remove it." He stands up, and I do too. "Come with me."

We walk in silence through the apartment. I figured out long ago that it is enchanted with some sort of magic. It moves from place to place, lingering in each for only a few months at a time. It has three stories, despite being small and insignificant from the outside. I am not allowed in the lowest level, but it is where we head now - Father pushes open a door to the dark stairway winding down, and we descend into darkness.

Sickly bulbs click on, bathing white tile scrubbed clean with sterile light that glows faintly blue. Father opens the door to a small room and I enter, ignoring the shivers that crawl up and down my spine. I can't show fear. It is a mundane thing to do, and Father would not want me acting like a mundane. He may have fought for their well being in the Uprising, but it doesn't mean we should act like them. The door closes and I survey the room.

The walls are white, as is the ceiling. The floor is the same white tile as the hallway, but all sloping slightly to the center of the floor, where a grate sits sedentary. Chains attached to the wall slump silently in one corner. Black stains jump out at me from in between each tile. I do not want to know what happens in this room. "What are we doing down here, Father?" I ask, proud of myself for keeping my voice so steady.

"Taking off your rune, Clarissa. I didn't want to get your blood on the floor upstairs."

This time I can't push down the shiver that runs through my every nerve. "What?"

He grabs my right hand, pushing up the sleeve of my black training shirt. I stare at the rune. My only rune. The one I have lived with for the last three years. "There's no other way," he reminds me. He pulls a small vial from his jacket and considers it for a moment. "Now, Clarissa. Be brave. This may hurt."

He uncorks the vial and unceremoniously pours the contents over the back of my hand. At first, it is just cold, spreading like ice over my skin. The world comes so clear into focus that it is dizzying; each breath I take feels like my first or my last; I stand taller than I every have before. Then it begins to burn. I try not to, but I scream. My knees give way and I sink to the floor. cold white tile against my forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut. Tendrils of clawing, snarling flames shoot over the back of my hand, sizzling ominously. I sneak a glance through my tears and see that the skin of my hand is literally _melting off._

Father Grabs me, pulling up the hem of my shirt, and I feel a sight sting at the small of my back. The pain in my hand eases, and I watch in wonder as the skin knits itself back together, like a fast motion video of stitching. The sting ebbs away, until my hand looks glowing and healthy again, without the rune. I gasp. "What was that?"

"I poured demon ichor on your hand to melt away the rune, and then used an iratze to remedy it. Don't worry - the iratze is faded and in a place covered by clothing." Father sounds proud. I do enjoy making him proud, but this was a bit much even for me.

I nod along, a wave of fatigue making me tongue tied. "Go get some rest, and pack. You leave tomorrow morning." Father tells me, and leads me out of the awful room and up the stairs back to the main floor. Jonathan stands at the top of the stairs with a scowl on his face.

"What did you do down there?" he asks.

"Take Clarissa to her bedroom," is all Father says in response, and closes himself back into his office. I begin to walk down the hall before my knees weaken, but Jonathan doesn't hesitate in placing one arm beneath my knees and the other my shoulders, lifting me carefully in his runed arms.

He kicks open the door to my room and lays me down on the bed I've pushed up against the window. The New York skyline shines through the unbreakable, unopenable glass. "Are you okay, Clarissa?" Jonathan asks.

"Fine. Just tired." I reply carefully.

He grabs my right hand and runs his thumb over the newly healed skin. "No scar," he says in awe. "This is good." His black eyes bore into mine, and then he pulls the blankets of my bed up around me. "Rest up, sister of mine."

I push my head into my pillow. "Goodnight, Jonathan."

He pauses in my doorway. His gaze lingers on me for a moment too long before he shuts the door and leaves. I am too tired to think of anything but sleep right now. I allow my eyes to flutter shut, and resign to the heavy wave of fatigue that overcomes me.


	2. Chapter 2

_And if souls are meant to be sold_

 _And hands are only to hold_

 _Then I can't do what I'm told_

 _\- "Coattails" by Broods_

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I run my hands over the last garment in my closet before closing the heavy doors. Father allowed me only a backpack, saying that a bigger bag might draw attention or unwanted questions. The backpack sits squarely at the middle of my back, containing only a pair of jeans, two shirts, and my toothpaste and toothbrush. I glance longingly at my sketchpads and pencils sitting on my desk. I can't bring those, either, no matter how badly I want to.

"Ready to go?" Jonathan's voice sounds from the doorway. He surveys my outfit distastefully. I don't blame him. Usually, I only wear gear or training clothes. Pretending to be a mundane has put me in denim pants, a plain white shirt, and a gray zip up sweatshirt.

I nod. "Yes." We head towards the doorway, Jonathan ushering me away from the well-lived-in room with a hand at the small of my back. Father stands outside with his arms crossed.

"Clarissa," he greets me. He nods at my outfit and gives me one of his severe smiles. "Remember this: the Lightwoods will tell you their version of the Uprising. Keep your head straight, and remember your training." He places a hand on my shoulder. "You will make me proud, Clarissa. I love you."

I bite the inside of my cheek. Father rarely tells me or Jonathan that he loves us, even though I know he does. "I will remember," is all I say.

"Go on outside, Clarissa. Wait outside the door. I need a word with Jonathan." I nod and make my way out the door. My thumb runs repeatedly over the skin where my one rune used to be. It doesn't feel any different, but I feel emptier with it gone. The door closes against me and I lean back against it, enjoying the dirty city breeze on my face. The windows in my bedroom don't open, and I'm not outside often. The wind dies and silence is around me...almost. I realize that I can hear voices through the door. Jonathan and Father.

I can't help myself. I press my ear to the door and strain to catch the words. "...tell her eventually." Jonathan's voice. "She's your daughter and has to know the truth. You have raised her well, much better than you raised me. She will do what you wish her to." His voice is bitter. What is he talking about?

"No, Jonathan. Clarissa takes after her mother. And you _know_ that Jocelyn betrayed me, betrayed us. If she knew the truth about Jocelyn she would want nothing to do with me. With either of us." Father's voice is steely. "I know you, Jonathan. I know how important it is to you that Clarissa be at your side." My pulse slams unevenly in my wrists. The truth about my mother? My ear presses so hard to the door that it aches, but I ignore the dull pain.

"Fine. But know that I do not agree with your decision. I am not a little boy anymore, Father." Jonathan's footsteps approach the door and I quickly swing myself away, lean nonchalantly to the wall a few inches away. The door swings open and Jonathan walks out, looking agitated. He runs a hand through his silver hair, making the usually neat style stick up unevenly around his face.

"Is everything alright?" I ask him, hoping he cannot see through the face of calm I've tried to create.

He turns to look at me, his black eyes searching mine. "Yes," he tells me. "Everything's fine. Let's go." He leads me away from the apartment, onto a busy street. When I turn to look back, the apartment has dissolved into a dingy looking hotel flashing a "No Vacancies" sign. I am beginning to really miss my Voyance rune. The streets are packed with mundanes, rushing back and forth, clutching brightly wrapped objects beneath their arms. Snow drifts lazily around us. I remember that it is almost Christmas and smile at the cheerful decorations adorning the storefronts.

"So what's the plan? How do I get into the Institute?" I ask Jonathan. He shoots a look at me out of the corner of his eye. His has his black coat buttoned up all the way to his chin, effectively covering all of his runes. The only thing that sets him apart from the crowd now are his startlingly dark eyes.

"We know that the three older Lightwood children, Alexander, Isabelle, and Jace, are investigating a rogue vampire den. When they go in, you'll wait outside. When they come out, they'll find you there talking about a man named Valentine." His pace is brisk and his legs are long, so I almost have to jog to keep up with him.

I let out a huff of breath and it curls like white smoke into the winter air. "And that's enough for them to bring me to the Institute?"

"Definitely." Jonathan scowls into the crowd. I watch his motions carefully. His hands are fisted into his pockets, and he stands rigidly straight-backed, like someone has replaced his spine with a steel rod.

"What's wrong?" I ask him. Growing up with Jonathan has allowed me to be able to recognize the bits of emotion he lets slip through the cracks of his tough facade.

He sighs. "I just don't like this. That's all."

"This? You mean my mission." I cross my arms. "You always get to go on them. I can't even have a stele or use runes. I barely even get to leave."

Jonathan mirrors me, crossing his arms as well. I decide we look ridiculous doing the same thing and let mine drop back to my sides. "I know," he says. "I just wish I could go with you."

"You are. Kind of. Father said you'd be watching me to make sure things went well." I kick an old can off of the sidewalk and into the gutter. A taxi veering dangerously close to the sidewalk lets out a wailing honk.

"Yes. But I mean..." he huffs. "Never mind. I know that this is a good opportunity for you." He turns his intense gaze to me and half smiles. "And when no one is looking, I may just have to steal you back for a few hours."

"I wouldn't say no to it." I give him a smile back, and suddenly his smile seems almost predatory. I shake off the feeling. Father trained us separately growing up. Jonathan's bedroom has always been off limits to me. We eat breakfast and dinner together and talk together in the evenings, but he is usually away in the daytime.

He steps sideways into an alleyway and pulls me after him, his warm hand closing around my cold one. Jonathan is always too warm, like a human furnace. I pull his arm to mine to borrow some of his heat, and he gives me a strange look. "Are we close?" I ask.

"It's right up here." He uses his free hand to point to the end of the alleyway. "Just at the end of the alley, there's an old Italian pizza place. That's the den, and the Lightwood kids should be in there already." He stops a few feet from the end of the alleyway and looks seriously down at me.

"I'll be fine, Jon," I remind him. "Father taught me how to take care of myself."

His black eyes flicker. "I know. He's always treated you very well."

A moment of silence stretches between us. "I want you to remember something, Clary," he says, using the nickname he came up for me that we know not to use around Father.

"What is it?"

His eyes take on a steely glint. "You're mine, and I'll look after you."

 _He must be very upset that I'm leaving,_ I think. I step forwards and wrap my arms around him. He stiffens before placing his arms around me in return. We haven't hugged since we were very young, when Father barely let me see him at all. "I know you will."

"Cry," he tells me as we hear the door open and three pairs of adrenaline-laced footsteps along with it. I nod and pinch myself hard on the wrist, hard enough to draw just a bit of blood. Tears well in my eyes. I cast one last look at Jonathan before pushing out into the street and letting my cheeks become wet.

Three teenagers look up at me at the same time. The first is a tall boy with dark hair and blue eyes, holding a bow in one hand and a seraph blade in the other. Beside him is a girl that could only be his sister, for they sport the same hair. Her eyes are dark but bright, and she wears a short black dress with heels despite the freezing temperatures. Last of the group is a boy with golden hair and golden eyes. I feel sweat begin to collect in the lines of my palm.

"Just another mundie," says the dark-haired boy.

The girl tilts her head to the side, letting the perfectly styled curls fall over her shoulder. "It's creepy Alec. It's like she's looking right at us."

"Help me, please," I beg them, allowing the tears to fall more freely. "He killed my mom."

The blonde boy's eyes widen. "You can see us?" His voice is lovely but dangerous, like a sleeping snake.

"Yes...?" I feign confusion and let a fake sob out.

He comes forwards and surveys me, the girl right behind him. The dark haired boy stays behind, trained eyes sweeping up and down the street. "I'm Jace. This is Isabelle, and that's Alec. It's going to be okay. What happened?"

I give myself a few deep breaths before I speak. "Some...some guy named Valentine broke into my apartment and he killed my mom." I sink down to my knees. "She's gone."

Isabelle's eyes flash at the mention of the word 'Valentine.' "Jace," she says in a warning tone.

"I know, Izzy," he says, his voice suddenly grave. It switches back to being gentle. "Can you tell us your name? Your mother's?"

I swallow hard before using the name Father gave me - my mother's maiden name. "I'm Clarissa Fairchild. My mother was Jocelyn Fairchild." I pull my arms around my knees. The cold from the snowy pavement seeps in through my pants, and I shiver.

"Fairchild? That's a shadowhunter name," says Isabelle. Her dark eyes find mine. "You must be freezing. Let us take you back to the Institute. You can talk with Hodge."

"Shadowhunter?" I ask.

Alec comes striding up, his dark eyes narrowed. "Izzy. We can't just bring every mundane with the Sight to the Institute." His voice is slightly cold.

"She's not a mundane, Alec," says Jace softly. A lock of his gold hair has fallen across his forehead and I feel the sudden urge to brush it back away from his face. Instead, I keep my hands firmly pressed to my legs. My eyes flick up to the alleyway. Jonathan is gone, but I know he must still be around here somewhere, watching. I feel his absence like a thorn in my side.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say in a shaking voice. "All I know is that my mother has been _murdered_ and all you want to do is call me names!" I let my hair fall into a curtain around my face, hiding my eyes.

I feel a soft hand on my arm. "Hey. Clarissa."

"My mom called me Clary," I mumble into my knees. I hope Jonathan heard it, heard me use the nickname he gave me. It will let him know that I trust him to look after and listen to me on my mission.

Jace pushes my hair from my face. His fingers brush my cheek in the process, and I shiver again, but not because I'm cold. His golden eyes bore into mine. "Clary, can you come to the Institute with us? We can keep you safe. We need you to tell us about Valentine."

I let out a quivering breath. "Okay. What about the police?"

"We are the police," says Isabelle with a small, sad smile. "For people like us. For people like you."

Jace wraps his strong hands around my upper arms and helps me to my feet. "You're going to be okay, Clary. We've got you."

"I can't believe this," sighs Alec, shouldering his bow. "If she's coming, let's go."

Jace keeps his hand on my arm as we begin to walk, and as we pass the alleyway, I see Jonathan standing bathed in shadows. His silver hair collects snow and lamplight, and his eyes look like pure black. There's something in his eyes - anger, sadness, longing?

I blink, and Jonathan is gone. I push down the uneasy feeling of being alone and walk with Jace, Alec, and Isabelle down the street.

I've started off well.

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 **Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you to the couple people who reviewed my story! I really, really, really appreciate feedback. Should I try to find a way to work Simon into the story? I think I may have a found a good way to do it, if you guys want him to be in it. Be ready for more Jace, Alec, Izzy, and Jonathan!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Strange boy, you make no sense_

 _And when you talk the room gets tense_

 _Strange boy, you drink your fill_

 _You only like me 'cause I'm new_

 _\- "Strange Boy" by The Shacks_

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Alec, Isabelle, and Jace stand in front of one of the shabbiest looking buildings I've ever seen. I squint my eyes at it. This can't be the Institute. Jace leans in over my shoulder. "It's glamoured," he murmurs, and his breath tickles the skin on the back of my neck, and goosebumps erupt along my arms. I run my hands along my skin to rid them of the strange feeling, but my nerves still feel electrified.

"Oh," is all I say. They all seem to realize that I can't know what 'glamoured' means, and lead me up to the doorway. As we get closer, I focus on the building as hard as I can. Like water sliding off of a smooth surface, the shabby exterior falls away and a grand looking building rises up from the dark. The doorway looms like a massive keyhole in front of us.

Isabelle glances at me. "Only those blessed by the angel can enter," she says. "Shadowhunters. Give it a try."

I swallow heavily and lift my hands, which look small and red in the cold air, to the doors. I give them a hard shove and loose my footing when they glide open easily and effortlessly. A soft hand lands on my wrist, steadying my balance. I glance back to see Jace, his face a mask of calm indifference. "Go on in, shadowhunter," he says.

Alec mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like _"stupid luck."_

I do, stepping into the Institute. It's quiet and empty. I look around for other shadowhunters, but the place seems deserted. I always assumed Institutes were bustling and full of shadowhunters, especially one in a city as big as New York. My confusion must show, because Jace says, "We're the only ones that live here. Us and Hodge. Come on, you can meet him upstairs."

We step into one of the large and ornate elevators adorning the Institute's lobby. I jump as something soft brushes my ankle and look down to see a cat sliding around my shoes. Isabelle picks the furry thing up and gives it a soft-hearted glare. "Church, be nice. This is our new friend Clary."

I feel a stab of guilt. Friend. If only they knew. The elevators open and we step out into a dimly lit hallway. Isabelle tosses the cat, Church, to the ground, where he meows indignantly and stalks away. Paintings along the walls depict battles and portraits of who I can only assume are famous shadowhunters. Their eyes seem to cling to me as we make our way down the hall, and I shiver. Isabelle throws me a piteous look. "You must be freezing," she says.

"Go get her some of your clothes," says Jace.

Isabelle glares at him. "I want to be in the meeting!"

"You said it yourself: she's cold. You're cold, aren't you, Clary?" His golden eyes lock to mine and I find myself nodding. Isabelle rolls her eyes and pushes into one of the rooms along the hallway, the smell of sweet vanilla and lilacs following her.

Alec opens the door at the end of the hall and I almost gasp. Tall ceilings shoot towards the sky like they'd love nothing more than to touch the stars and live among them like equals. Shelves line the walls, holding thousands and thousands of multicolored books and glass cases full of strange objects. "What is this place?" I ask. At least I don't have to fake the awe in my voice.

"This is the Institute's library," says an unknown voice. I look to see a man descending a staircase to the upper floor of the library. His hair is dark and streaked with gray, and his eyes are the color of old snow. "My name is Hodge Starkweather." He turns his attention to Jace and Alec. "I trust you have a good reason to bring this mundane into the Institute?"

Alec opens his mouth to speak, but Jace beats him to it. "She's not a mundane. She's Jocelyn Fairchild's daughter."

Hodge surveys me carefully, reaching the bottom of the stairs and stepping towards us. His expression is grave. "Let's sit," he says in a deep tone. He motions to a set of armchairs by a leaping fireplace. Jace and Alec immediately slump into ones next to each other. I sit uncomfortably in the one next to Jace. Hodge settles into one of his own and the ghost of a smile flickers across his face. "You look just like your mother," he says.

"Did you know her?" I sit up straighter in my chair. Father never liked to talk about her. I learned to stop asking about her. When I was younger, I used to dream of my mother opening the door to my bedroom, sitting at the edge of the bed. Alive and happy to see me.

Hodge shakes his head slightly. "Of course. Jocelyn and I trained alongside each other at Shadowhunter Academy." He lifts an eyebrow. "Do you know anything about this? About any of this?"

Alec cuts in. "We had just completed our mission, and we found her on the street. She could see us, even though we were glamoured. I thought she was just a mundane with the Sight," he adds.

"I-I was just looking for someone so I could use their phone. To call the police." I look at my feet while I'm talking. Something about Hodge's gray gaze makes me feel as if he can see right through my lies.

"Why would you need to call the police?" probes Hodge.

I let out a sniffle I hope sounds convincing. "My mom. A man broke into our apartment. He _killed_ her. Right in front of me."

"Not any man," says Jace. "Who did you say it was, back when we found you?"

I study my cuticles. My nails need to be trimmed. "He called himself Valentine."

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as the word leaves my mouth. I see Alec and Hodge stiffen in their seats, but Jace just nods. "You know what this means, Hodge." His voice is low and serious.

Hodge nods. "Thank you...I never caught your name."

I lift my eyes to his. "Clary," I say in a hollow voice.

"Thank you, Clary," he amends. He looks to Jace. "Can you set her up in one of the spare bedrooms?"

"Sure." Jace jumps to his feet. I stand too, unsteadily. I wonder if I'm doing a good job at pretending to be in an unnatural environment. I better be. I glance at Alec, but he stubbornly avoids my eyes. "Follow me?" he says.

I nod and slump numbly after him, leaving Hodge and Alec sitting at the fire, brooding silently. Once we reach the hallway, Isabelle pops back into view. She's changed from her dress into a red satin pajama shorts set and a white satin kimono draped lazily on top. "These are for you," she tells me, handing me a pile of clothes. I catch a peek of lace and fight down a groan.

"Thanks," I say. She gives me a strange smile and disappears back into her bedroom.

Jace kicks open the door to the room across the hall. I peer inside. All that's there is a bed with plain white sheets, a dresser with the drawers pulled out, and a desk pushed up under the window. The door clicks shut behind us and he flips on the light. I set the clothes on the desk and slump down onto the edge of the bed. I really am exhausted. Jace sits on the bed next to me, and I study him fully for the first time.

He looks like the pictures of famous mundanes I sometimes catch a glimpse of in advertisements when Jonathan takes me shopping. That, or the paintings of angels Father kept around the house. Beautiful, yet untouchable. Someone you can look at but never touch. Except I could touch him, if I wanted to. He is only inches away from me.

"Is there anything you need?" His voice has left the arrogance behind this time he speaks. His face, too, has melted from the usual emotionless exterior. He looks almost worried, his eyebrows drawn together, forming a crease on his forehead. It makes him seem younger.

I look around the empty room. "Drawing supplies," I say, as the idea pops into my head. It's true - there's nothing I'd like more than to settle in with a pencil in my hand and paper propped against my knees, letting all of my thoughts spill out as graphite markings.

A small smile appears at the edge of his mouth. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I realize that "it" must be my mother's death. Of course. I should be in mourning. I let my eyes slide to the floor. "I just can't make it real in my head," I tell him. This is how it's always felt. Sure, Father tells me that she died in the Uprising. But it always felt like she could walk through the doors at any moment. "I can't believe that she's gone, even though I know she is."

A silence yawns between us, but it doesn't feel awkward. I feel as if the empty space is being filled up with our different thoughts, all jumbled in together. "I know how that feels," he says softly. "I watched my dad get killed."

I feel a sharp pang in my chest. Here I am, pretending to be hurt, when Jace really is. _Remember the mission,_ I think, and the voice in my head sounds like my father's. I try to push the pity down but fail miserably. "I'm sorry," I say, so quietly that even I can barely hear it.

"It was a long time ago." He stands and dusts off the front of his pants even though there's nothing on them. "I'll leave you to get settled in. he bathrooms right through that door, if you want to shower." With that, he's gone, leaving the imprint of golden eyes, full of pain, in my eyelids. I shake the uneasy feeling that I've begun to harbor and go into the bathroom he's mentioned.

I shower quickly and wrap myself in a towel before pushing my way back into the bedroom. I gasp when I see a figure slouched on my bed. "Jonathan! What are you doing here?" I hiss.

He looks lazily up at me from his perch on my pillows. "Checking up on you," he replies in an easy voice.

"I've been here for an hour," I remind him. "My mission literally started an hour ago."

His eyes take on a harder glint. He stands and walks over to me. "You're my sister, Clarissa. I'm supposed to worry about you." He pushes a lock of my wet hair behind my ear, our of my face.

"Get out so I can get dressed," I tell him.

He smiles a little bit. "Naturally, Clary. Remember," he adds in a more serious voice. "These people are not your friends. You can't trust them. You can only trust me." He looks as if he's about to say more, but instead slips out of the window where he must have come in. I walk over to the window and peer out. Jonathan is agile, stronger and faster than any other shadowhunter, myself included. I shut the window to keep out the cold.

Closer examination on the stack of clothes Izzy gave me shows several pairs of skinny or ripped jeans, a tight leather skirt, and several tops in varying levels of opacity. I slip on a clean pair of underwear and the only modest-looking shirt in the stack to sleep in.

Crawling into bed, I feel a prickle on the back of my neck, like someone's watching me. My eyes scan the dark room, but I am alone. With an uneasy feeling, I try to sleep, working hard to forget the hollow look in Jace's eyes when he talked about his father.

* * *

 **New chapter guys. Just so you know, updates won't usually be coming in so often. I just had a lot of time to write this weekend. Today I went to my local comic con as Isabelle. It was great, but only a few people knew who I was. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. As usual, if you liked it or found something that needs revising, please review. See y'all next time :)**


	4. Chapter 4

_A new ignition to an old flame_

 _Shining lights are placed at dark_

 _I get a warm feeling about this_

 _And it takes me back to the start_

 _\- "Coming Round" by Rupert Pope and John Robertson_

* * *

I wake to a harsh knocking on a hard surface. I lift my head, groggy, from my pillow. A few bits of wet hair slide along the back of my neck where I slept on them and they didn't dry. For a moment, panic flutters in my chest; I am not at home, in my bedroom full of my things. No, I am at the New York Institute on a mission for Father. The door swings open and Isabelle pops her head into my room. "Good morning!" she calls cheerily, strolling into my room like we're sisters and plopping herself down at the end of my bed.

"Isabelle," I greet, still not fully awake. She is already dressed in gear, and has several visible knives strapped to her waist and legs. I have no doubt that other weapons are concealed on her as well.

She tosses her perfectly glossy dark hair over her shoulders and looks closely at me. "How are you holding up?"

I look down into the bunch of blankets trapped around my waist, twisted around me like rope. "I think I just need time to get over it. To distract myself from it." My voice sounds small and falls immediately silent in the still air.

"Well, if you want help distracting yourself, I can teach you some moves," she says, standing up and brushing her fingers over the various weapons attached to her gear. My own fingers ache to feel cool adamas in them again, to swing a blade so fast it becomes nothing but a silver wisp of smoke.

"Alright," I tell her, and her face lights up in a wide grin.

She takes a few steps towards the door before looking back at me. "You're going to want to get dressed first," she says, nodding at my sheet-skirt. I feel my cheeks warm and wish, suddenly, that they did not get red so quickly.

"Noted," I reply, and she laughs musically and shuts the door. I clamber out of bed to give a closer examination to the pile of clothes Isabelle left me the day before. As I feared last night, the clothes all look tight fitting, and some of the shirts have necklines that dip far too low to be acceptable on my flat chest. I pull on a pair of plain black gear pants, rolling them up at the ankles where they're too long, and slip on a gear shirt. Though they're bigger than the ones I have at home, they feel familiar

I open the door to find Jace leaning against the wall in the hallway, spinning a knife around his fingers in an expert way that allows the blade to swing just close enough to his skin to whisper across it. He has long, thin fingers, not ones meant for breaking things. Musician's hands. There is a piano in the apartment, but I don't know how to play it and if Father or Jonathan do, I've never heard it. "Hey," I say, and he looks up, clearly surprised. The knife spirals and slices a small cut into his thumb. "Sorry." I bite down a cutting remark about how shadowhunters should not be shocked so easily.

"Clary," he says. Only Jonathan has ever called me that, but I like the way it sounds. 'Clarissa' has always sounded far too log, a pretentious name. _Clarissa Morgenstern._

"Isabelle said she wanted me to go to training with her?" I try to keep my tone light. Father always said the most convincing lies are the ones that sound natural and easy.

Jace smirks and pulls up the hem of his shirt. What is he doing? I unsuccessfully try to avert my eyes from the strip of skin he's bared, tan and crossed lightly with white scars I recognize as used-up runes. He plucks a stele from his belt and draws a healing rune on his skin, black lines blossoming from the tip like the most beautiful artwork I've ever seen. The rune itself seems to glow against his golden skin. I've only ever seen Jonathan shirtless, and that was when we were very little. Compared to tanned-to-perfection Jace, Jonathan is pale and harsh-looking. "I..." My voice quickly dies. The wound on his finger seals itself up. His shirt falls back into place and his eyes flick up to mine. Golden eyes, a peculiar color. _Lion's eyes,_ I think. "What was that?"

"It's called an iratze," he says, his voice soft and almost completely absorbed by the tapestries hanging on the walls. "It heals us."

I stare at his arms, marked up and down with the spiraling black shapes. I always thought runes were the most beautiful parts of being a shadowhunter. My feet, of their own accord, walk towards his to see them in closer detail. "Why haven't I seen them before? If my mother was a shadowhunter?"

"I'm not sure," admits Jace. I look up and find him mere inches away from me. Up close, I can see his long eyelashes, casting the hall's light in a million directions. They glow like fire, or coals, and I am almost surprised that they do not singe the tops of his cheekbones when he blinks.

"What do these ones do?" I trail my finger up his arm, tracing the lines of the runes. His skin is warm and smooth, marked here and there with a scar. He breathes in sharply.

His hand brushes over mine, and I tense. He guides my finger around each rune as he names it. "Soundless, precision, courage, angelic power," he says, ending on the rune on his upper arm. My hand closes around his arm and our eyes flick to each other's.

"I...I could use them too then?" My voice sounds breathy and I silently curse myself. Something here is making my head spin. Maybe I'm getting sick? His hand presses flat against the back of mine, his thumb gliding small circles about the side of my pinkie finger, sandwiching my hand between his palm and his arm.

"Yes. Would you want one?" I catch my breath. Of course, it's what I've always wanted. Father couldn't get mad at me if I got one, could he? It would look suspicious to resist it, wouldn't it? Not trusting my shaky voice, I nod.

He gently lifts my wrist, turning it so the inside of my forearm is facing the ceiling. Underneath my pale, freckled skin, blue veins trace up to my elbow. He sets the tip of the stele to my skin, and I gasp at the slight painful pressure. I don't remember what getting my Voyance rune was like. He stops and looks up at me, worried. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I whisper. At least I don't have to fake this reaction. He continues to draw the rune, and I find that I rather enjoy the bite of the stele into my skin. If anything, I wish he would push the stele further into my arm, enough to almost puncture the skin. I shake the thought off as he finishes the rune. It sits against my pale skin, and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. "Angelic power," I say, quoting him.

Jace smiles a bit. "This proves it, you know. That you're a shadowhunter."

"What would happen if you put one on a...a normal person?" I ask. Father never told me this.

His face darkens considerably. "When mundanes are runed, the pain is unimaginable. They go crazy and become what we call the Forsakened. Then we usually have to kill them."

I stare at him to see if he's kidding. Apparently, he's not. "Oh," is all I can think to say.

He clears his throat, and my hand slides from his arm. "We should get to training," he says.

"You're coming?" The question comes out rather rudely. I bite my tongue until I taste blood.

His face breaks out into an amused smirk. "Well, of course. I never do miss a chance to show off my impeccable skill and muscle." His serious attitude from earlier is long gone. "Come on, I'll show you the way to the training room."

And he does. We walk through the Institute, him giving me the quick overview on where things are. The way to the kitchen ("If Izzy is cooking, I recommend staying far away"), Isabelle's bedroom ("Don't tell her I said that"), Alec's bedroom ("No one is allowed in there"), and the training room ("Where the magic happens").

Isabelle is already in the room when we walk in, her long hair tied back in a glamorous braid that slips delicately over one of her shoulders. "There you are!" She pulls her wrist back with a sharp flick, and something snaps towards her coiling expertly around her thin wrist. A whip. "Where'd you get that?" Isabelle asks, eyeing my new rune.

"Jace did it," I say, and my eyes flick back down to the angelic power symbol.

Her dark eyes widen. "Alec is going to freak out if he finds out that you-"

"You runed the mundane?" An angry voice thunders from the doorway of the training room. Alec storms into the room, blue eyes dark with anger. "Jace, I knew you were an idiot when I became your parabatai, but this is a whole new level of-"

"Don't call her a mundane!" Jace's voice matches Alec's in intensity. "If she was, she'd be a Forsaken by now."

Alec shoots him a heavy glare and stalks over to one of the arrays of weapons, grabbing a bow and shooting arrow after arrow at the targets against the walls. Isabelle looks over at me. "Boys," she says, as if this is a normal occurrence. "Come on, let's find you a weapon."

I already know that I fight best with a sword, but let Isabelle look over the different blades. "Your arms are too short for a knife, but...maybe throwing stars?" I shake my head. "Hm, maybe you're right. Those aren't very good in demon battle. Ooh! Archery?" I shake my head again. "Yeah, Alec would probably be a bit mad too. Um...here." She slides a seraph blade into my hand. "Name it."

"Name it what?" I ask.

She taps her chin. "A biblical name."

I think for a moment. "Michael," I say to the blade, and it blazes to life, so bright that the image of it sticks inside my eyelids.

"Wow," Isabelle says in apparent awe. "I've never seen one get so bright before."

Jace steps in behind us. "Want to demonstrate for her, Iz?" He holds his own seraph blade, and it looks easy and natural in his hand. Isabelle pulls her own from the shelf and names it.

"Bring it on."

I watch as they fight, though it's evident that Jace is the better of the two. He's faster, and ends up sliding the seraph blade from Isabelle's grasp and pushing the blade of his own against her throat. "Looks like I've won. Again," he gloats in an amused voice.

Isabelle rolls her eyes. "Show off."

"Isabelle? Alec? Jace?" The voice comes from the doorway of the training room. We all turn to see Hodge standing in the doorway. "Can I see you all for a minute?"

"Alright," says Alec, and they all head out of the training room. The door shuts and I stare at the blade in my hands. I love the rush of the seraph blades, the way they turn the air blue and silver.

I advance on a mannequin, using my silent footsteps I've practiced over the years. Leaping, I kick off of a support beam, landing on the dummy's shoulders and plunging my blade into it's head in the process. Cleanly pulling out the blade, I flip off the shoulders and land in a perfect crouch on the ground just as the body falls.

"Where did you learn to fight like that?" says a surprised voice in the doorway.

I look up, my blood turning to ice in my veins. Jace stands with his arms taut at his sides, eyes clinging to the ravaged dummy and the blade in my hand. It clatters from my grasp to the floor.

His golden eyes are steel.

* * *

 **Sorry it took a few days but here it is. I've been too busy reading Lord of Shadows. It's so good so far, I'm about halfway through. Are any of you reading it? I pre-ordered it about a month ago and was super psyched to come home to it sitting right on my front porch. I absolutely love Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn as characters and can't wait to finish the book. As always, thank you ll so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed.**


	5. Chapter 5

_Blame it on the buzz_

 _I am never gonna get enough_

 _\- "Kamikaze" by MØ_

* * *

My eyes stay strictly trained on the floor. "Summer camp," I lie quickly. He approaches me, but I don't dare to meet his eyes. I gasp as his fingers close around my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"Clary," he says. Nothing else. Just my name. I swallow hard as his golden eyes envelop me, covering me in their soft-yet-hard glow. I am very aware of every nerve, every tendon in my body, all singing at once. He shakes his head and steps back as Isabelle and Alec come back into the training room. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Did I just fail my mission?

Isabelle, oblivious to the strange look Jace is giving me, grins at us. "I'm hungry. Should I make lunch?"

"No!" Alec yells before I have a chance to process what she's saying. Jace looks away from me.

"Alec is right, Iz. We'd all rather walk away from the experience with our stomachs, and hopefully the stove, still intact." Jace's voice has resumed the casual indifference from before.

Izzy shoots a rough glare in his direction. "Fine. Let's go to Taki's."

The name rings a bell in my head. I vaguely remember hearing Father and Jonathan talking about the place, about how it was a place where filthy downworlders met with shadowhunters. "Blood traitors," Father would say. I hide the distasteful curl of my lip. I would rather not go to a place like that, but I've already messed up once. "I've never heard of that place before," I say.

Alec looks at me like I am the last bit of dirt to sweep into the trash. "Of course you haven't." Dislike prickles up along my arms. What is Alec's problem?

Jace avoids looking in my direction as he says, "Fine. Let's go." He glances at me. "You'll want to change out of that first."

I nod and hurry out of the training room, retracing my steps from earlier. Once safely behind shut doors, I allow myself a moment to pace, running my fingers through my hair in a worried fashion. I quickly pull on a pair of jeans riddled with artfully ripped gaps and a dark red sweatshirt that clings uncomfortably close to my skin.

Isabelle is waiting for me outside the door, our of her gear and into yet another short dress and a pair of heels. "You'll love Taki's," she gushes. "They have absolutely crazy food. The best." We meet up with Alec and Jace at the end of the hall.

I follow them as they leave the training room. My eyes follow Jace as he walks down the hallway. Did he buy my excuse? There's no way to know. The best thing I can do until I'm sure is to act naturally. Isabelle is talking on and on, about someone named Meliorn. I try not to show my obvious distaste. Meliorn is a faerie name. A downworlder name.

We step out onto the street, and my breath comes out in wispy curls that float up towards the gray sky. It's not snowing now, but fluffy bits cling to the window panes of the Institute and stuck in dirty clumps to the edges of the streets. Alec steps to the curb and flags down a taxi. He must not be glamoured. An obnoxiously yellow car stops sharply in front of him. I don't know what I was thinking; that maybe the Institute had it's own cars, or something. Alec climbs into the passenger seat and I get sandwiched in between Isabelle and Jace in the back.

"Where to?" The driver turns his head back to look at us, and I can't help it; I let out a startled gasp. It's a man, if you could call him that. Scars run across his face, turning one of his yellow eyes milky with sight loss. He has a scruffy and sparse beard and messy brown hair that curls around his ears.

"Werewolf," Jace murmurs in my ear. "We're going to Taki's," he says louder, so the driver can hear. The werewolf winks and speeds off of the curb. Maybe Alec was glamoured. Maybe there is a downworlder taxi service.

"Is this safe?" I hiss to Jace.

He nudges his knee against mine. "It's not a full moon, is it?"

"It's daytime," I reply.

Jace lets loose a cocky smile. "Exactly."

I try to imagine what Father would say if he could see me now, in small and enclosed space with a downworlder. The ones who joined with the Clave in the Uprising to kill all mundanes. Downworlder filth, just inches from myself. I feel my hands start to shake and shove them against my legs to try to still them. I feel a light pressure on my left hand and look to see Jace, his fingers sliding lightly over the back of my hand. My mouth immediately dries. Isabelle lets out a breathy sound that sounds something like "hmphf."

I watch our hands for the rest of the ride, trying to memorize the exact color of his skin. Gold? Bronze? No, it's the color of sunlight. Or the sun as it dips along the horizon. "We're here," deadpans Alec. He presses a wad of cash into the werewolf's hand and we exit the taxi. I shudder as it pulls away. Isabelle gives me a funny look and starts forwards towards what must be Taki's.

We walk through the doors and I recoil, my shoulders hitting Jace's chest. A table of pale skinned and beautiful people is directly to the right, all of them holding delicate glasses of deep scarlet liquids. A group of faeries laughs over plates of strange fruits and loaves. A lone werewolf sips a smoking drink in a corner booth. Jace's hands tighten onto my upper arms and push me forwards. Downworlders.

Isabelle and Alec slide into a booth, and I slide in on the other side. Jace sits next to me, placing me between him and the wall. "Hello," says a soft and distinctly female voice. A lightly green-skinned girl with mischievous blue eyes stands at the end of the booth with a stack of laminated menus. She hands them out, pauusing to wink at Jace. I feel a coil of anger in my chest. Downworlders should never ever flirt with shadowhunters, God forbid. Jace, however, simply smiles coolly at her as she walks away.

I look down at my menu. _Blood - add a shot of flavor, only 50 cents extra!_ My hands begin to shake again. This is not my environment. Jace flips my menu over. "That's the human food," he tells me.

Indeed it is. I let out a sigh of relief; no bloodcakes for me today. Isabelle begins to babble again, this time about the specialty faerie drinks. Alec groans. "Izzy, no. Last time you got one of those, you went insane and then slept for two days straight."

"Exactly! I had a great time!" She grins as the waitress comes back, saying her hips slightly.

"Have we decided on what we want today?"

I quickly look back at the menu. Alec orders a water and a turkey sandwich on rye. Isabelle orders a complicated sounding faerie drink much to the dismay of Alec, and a bowl of lemon rice soup. Jace decides on a salad and a glass of wine. At my surprised look, he shrugs and says, "The legal drinking age for shadowhunters is fifteen."

Father never told me that.

I quickly order a grilled cheese sandwich with tomatoes, the way Jonathan used to make for me when I was too little to reach the stovetop. "She'll take another one of these," chimes in Isabelle, pointing to the drink she ordered on the menu. I groan inwardly and hand my menu to the waitress. She sashays away.

"What exactly is in that drink?" I ask Isabelle.

She runs a hand through her hair. I expected her nails to be long and perfectly painted, but instead they are cut short, with dirt stuck under the tips. I guess it would be hard to fight demons with long nails. "Sugar, fruit, and a bit of faerie magic." She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

"She means drugs," says Alec in a bored monotone. Isabelle smacks his shoulder.

Jace laughs softly. "One time, when Izzy got this one drink, she ran away from us and we found her three hours later in a vampire den in a circle of sunlight, fast asleep."

I must look alarmed, because they quickly change the subject. Our food finally comes, and I dig into my sandwich. I'm starving. I ignore the fact that downworlder hands most likely made the sandwich and try to enjoy it. I eye the faerie drink Isabelle ordered for me carefully. "Try it," Jace says.

I lift the drink up warily. It's blue towards the bottom and pink at the top, speared through with a light yellow straw. It smells of springtime. I take a small sip. Sweetness spreads slowly over my tongue, and the world seems to become brighter, softer. I feel a laugh building in my throat and try to stifle it.

Alec's voice breaks through the soft focus world. "Isabelle. You didn't get her the toned-down version?"

"I thought I did!" Isabelle protests.

I take another long sip, surprised to see that the glass is almost gone. How much did I drink in this short bit of time? Or has it been a long time? I can't remember. The glass, now empty, slides from my grasp and lands with a clatter on the tabletop. "Okay, I'm fine," I tell them. And I am. The world glimmers in technicolor. Jace's hair is so bright it's almost blinding; Isabelle's dark eyes shine like black diamonds. My own hair looks like fire in my periphery.

Jace shakes his head. "Izzy. She's completely out of her own head."

"No, no, I'm fine," I insist. The bench dips out from beneath me and I find my face presses against something warm and soft - Jace's arm.

"We need to take her back to the Institute to sober up," says Alec. The others agree, despite my arguings, and haul me unceremoniously into another taxi. I must fall asleep along the way, because when my eyes open again, I am in my bed at the Institute. Jace sits at the edge of my bed.

"You're awake," he says. I smile because it's obvious. Of course I'm awake!

"You're Jace," I say, and laugh because he is.

He doesn't laugh with me. "You're drunk, Clary." He sounds sad. I reach out and grab one of his hands, tracing his Voyance rune with my fingers.

"Not drunk. Just in a good mood." I let the 'good' drag out, like it would if I filled the space between the 'g' and the 'd' with too many o's.

Jace's face softens, but his frown doesn't go away. "Are you going to tell me the truth now?"

"Bout what?" I focus on the way the light slants off of his golden curls. His hair looks especially bright right now, like everything else does. It throws the light across the room, shimmering down like falling stars all around his head. Or maybe the stars aren't real, only in my head. There's really no way for me to know unless I touch them. I reach up a hand and try to catch one of them, but my hand goes right through it and lands on his hair. It's soft under my fingers.

"Where you learned to fight." He frowns. "Who taught you? Your mother?"

I focus back on his face, and pull a piece of his hair between my pointer finger and thumb. "Yeah," I tell him, because I don't remember what he asked me. I'm too distracted by the way his high cheekbones lead down to his mouth. I find myself zeroing in on his lips. I've never looked too closely at lips before, but his look so inviting. _Inviting for what?_ I wonder. I don't know.

"Oh, Clary," he sighs. "I'm sorry."

I flick my eyes back to his. They shine like yellow gemstones in his face. "'S okay," I tell him. I don't know what he's sorry about.

"If you ever need anything..." he trails off and shakes his head. I almost expect stars to scatter from the ends of his curls, but they don't. Instead, he gives me a stinging look and lick his bottom lip. "Goodnight, Clary." He stands and leaves the room without looking back at me.

I hear a shuddering sound and look to my left. Jonathan is standing in front of the window, arms crossed over his chest, silvery hair dotted with bits of snow. His dark eyes are narrowed, and I feel a shiver run down my spine at the look in his eyes.

* * *

 **Oh my goodness guys, I just finished Lord of Shadows. I won't spoil it for y'all, but I am absolutely heartbroken in so many different ways. Also, I have a completely new ship, and I really hope it goes somewhere - finger are crossed! I don't know how I'm going to do waiting a whole nother year for the sequel. I think my favorite character from the series is either Julian (he's honestly so adorable and so in love with Emma, I just want to protect him ahhh) or Drusilla, because she reminds me a lot of myself.**

 **I hope y'all enjoyed drunk/high Clary. She may or may not make another appearance...also here is a cliffhanger where Jonathan is feeling ~something~. Jonathan is going to be slightly different than he was in the books in this story, because I am 100% a member of the Jonathan-Morgenstern-deserved-better club. I feel like growing up with Clary influenced him in a couple of different ways. As usual, review if you see something that needs changing or liked the chapter! Until next time, friends.**

 **ALSO, stick around. There ~may or may not~ be Clace in the next chapter.**


	6. Chapter 6

_I paint the pictures_

 _Of emotions I'll never own_

 _\- "Paint the Pictures" by Of Verona_

* * *

I've never drank before, so I've never had a hangover. Whether or not I should have one is beyond me, but I feel fine. The only thing that feels slightly off is the unreal shininess to my skin, which appears to be about the appearance of flesh tone plastic wrap.

I groan when I see what I'm wearing - just a plain black men's t-shirt. Definitely not something from the pile of clothes Isabelle gave me. Someone must have changed me from the clothes I wore today. Who, though, is a mystery: all I remember is drinking the drink at Taki's before a blur of voices and faces, both Jace and Jonathan.

When I look out the window, it is just becoming dark out. I must have slept for the majority of the daytime. I'm awake now, and decide to take a shower. _I will never drink a faerie drink again. Or anything Isabelle recommends, for that matter._

The shower calms my nerves. I like my showers cold. When I was young, I would take hot ones, until I realized that to build up tolerance to the shock of cold it would be beneficial to get used to the feeling of the deep-bone chill of freezing water against my skin. It just feels calm now, soothing and natural. I let myself take my time, working suds into my red hair slowly and letting it rinse out without helping it along.

I hear a heavy knock on the door and quickly turn the dial on the shower, effectively stopping the flow of water. I wrap a towel around myself and crack open the bathroom door. _Jace,_ of all people, stands in my bedroom with his arms crossed over his chest. He wears an easy smirk and his hair is ruffled naturally across his forehead. "You sobered up?"

"Yes," I say. "Do you mind?"

His smirk grows wider, forcing a dimple into his cheek. "Mind what?"

I roll my eyes at him. "I know you heard the shower running." I let a pause run between us before continuing. "What time is it?"

"A little after seven," he tells me. His eyes flick down to my towel and I feel a warm flush creep into my cheeks. Perhaps he is not looking at my towel at all, but at the freckled and gangly legs sticking out from beneath it. My cheeks redden even further. "I'll leave you to get dressed," he says, and disappears through the door.

I look in the bathroom mirror to see my thin freckled face and limp hair, turned almost black in it's wetness. I walk back into the main bedroom and go to the pile of clothes on the desk. Beside it is a sketchpad, a box of Prismacolor colored pencils, and varying pencils, graphite sticks, and pens. I feel a tension leave my chest, one that I was not aware of until it was gone. My fingers run along the pencils and I feel a smile grow on my face. I quickly toss on a pair of jeans and a black long sleeve shirt with a somewhat scandalous neckline that hugs my body uncomfortably.

I settle on the bed with the art supplies and let all of the feelings, worries, spill out onto the paper. I barely see what I'm drawing, my eyes mostly closed as I let the sweeping strokes take the page. When I do open them, I gasp.

It's Jace.

Down to his high cheekbones and long lashes, it is undeniably a shaded picture of him, with wings springing from his back and a seraph blade clenched in his fist. With his hair falling across one side of his face, he looks like an avenging angel ready to strike. All around him, there are other details - a close up of one golden eye, the shape of his mouth, his hair and his hand with the Voyance rune. My fingers brush the page, blending the pencil, and suddenly they _touch_ something. Something soft and smooth, the unmistakable texture of feathers.

The sketchpad falls from my hands. The drawing looks exactly the same, but my fingers still prickle with the ghost of the feeling of feathers. I feel my heart pounding in my chest. It must just be a hallucination, an aftereffect of the faerie drink. But it felt so real.

I flip the page and grab a water glass from my bedside table. I close my eyes and set the glass on the paper. Trying, trying to concentrate, to imagine a drawing of the glass, still half full of cold, clear water...and I gasp as my hand _goes through the page_. I stare at the drawing of the glass, so lifelike that I could touch it. The glass is gone, reduced to a two dimensional sketch. My hands shake. Carefully, I focus on the real glass again and touch the page, only to feel the cool texture of the cup. I pull, and the page is blank. The cup sits innocently in my hand. I quickly shove it back onto the table as a knock sounds from my door. I flip the sketchpad shut and toss my wet hair into a messy bun, spearing it through with a pencil to keep it up.

"Come in," I say, steadying my voice, though my hands still shake. I shove them into the mattress to try to still them. Jace slips into my room, eyes alight with what I could only describe as mischief.

I cross my arms at him. "Clary," he says, and there is something more than playful in his voice. "Are you going to stay holed up in here all night?"

"What's it to you if I do?" I ask, but my voice comes out quietly instead of strong, like I hoped it would. A bit of the humor leaves his eyes.

He sits on the edge of the bed. "Well you must be hungry. The rest of us already ate dinner." I am hungry, a bit. I purse my lips.

"I guess so," I reply. Before I can stop him, his hand reaches out and grabs the sketchpad from my lap. Before my lips can even open in protest, he has opened it and is staring at the drawing. The drawing of him. I watch as his eyes run over the dark lines, the shadows and the smudges. I feel a cold chill creep up my spine. "Is it..." he trails off. "You drew me." His wide eyes lift to meet mine. "Why?"

I can't rip my gaze from his burning eyes. "I don't know," I answer, and it is the truthful response, the best one I can give.

He sets the drawings carefully to the side and smiles lopsidedly at me. "Come on," he says. He holds out his hand to me. I take it and let him pull me off of the bed. The floor is cold and hard against my feet - I didn't put on socks. He leads me through the Institute, his footsteps completely silent. He must have a Soundless rune.

We end up in the kitchen. I hoist myself up onto the counter, letting my feet dangle down against the cabinets below. The lights are out in the kitchen and neither of us bother to turn them on. Jace opens the fridge and looks in with a wrinkled face. "What are you in the mood for?" he asks.

"Umm..." I hum, tapping my fingers against the countertop. "Fruit?"

He grins at me. "Lucky for you, my favorite fruit is here." He holds up a mango triumphantly, and I can't help but to smile back. "The real question is, how do you even cut up one of these things?"

Neither of us knows, so he ends up cutting it in half and handing me a spoon. We both unceremoniously dig out the fruit with the spoons. It is a terrible way to eat a mango. Juice sprays up from the spoon and hits me in the eye, stinging me. "Ouch," I groan.

"Next time, we ask Alec how to slice a mango," suggests Jace.

I arch an eyebrow. "Would he know?"

Jace shrugs his shoulders and sets his mango half on the table. "Probably."

I set down my half too. It is too much effort to eat it the way I have been trying to, and my eye still stings a bit. "Why doesn't Alec like me?" I ask him.

Jace looks surprised at the question. "What do you mean?"

I chastise myself. I should not talk like that about his parabatai, especially not in front of him. "Well...he calls me a mundane. He doesn't seem to like me much at all." I frown.

"He just doesn't like meeting new people," says Jace. "That's all. But I think Isabelle likes having you here. You're like the girl friend she's never had the chance to have. And I like having you here."

I feel a coil of guilt in my chest. If he knew why I was here, he would not like me so much. In fact, I am almost sure he would have no problem running me through with one of the many weapons of the Institute. "You do?"

He walks towards me, setting his hands on either side of my legs. "You're different." His voice is quiet and careful. "You're so...human."

I scoff. "So you're calling me a mundane too?"

He smiles sadly. "Not exactly. I've noticed that it is often a shadowhunter flaw to forget that though we are half angel, we are also half mundane. We are equal parts of each, and I think it would be good for us to remember it."

"Well, what makes me so human?" I ask. He half smiles.

"You don't try to apologize for how you are. You just simply _are_." He is so close that I can see every fleck of gold, every stripe of amber, every burst of sparks, in his eyes. One of his hands lifts and rests lightly on my cheekbone.

"And that's a...good thing?" My voice comes out far too breathy for my liking.

Jace doesn't seem to notice, and if he does he clearly doesn't mind much. He leans in, and I shiver when his words slip softly against my cheek. "Don't let anyone tell you it is a weakness," he says, and then his lips meet mine.

I sigh into the kiss and am instantly mortified. Was that rude? I don't know; I don't know. I never had friends as a kid, except for Jonathan. Jace doesn't seem mad at all - his hands creep up to gently press against the small of my back. I've never kissed anyone before, but it's clear that Jace has. I feel a sharp pang in my chest. Jealousy?

He slides a hand up to my hair and pulls the pencil from my bun. My wet hair falls to my shoulders, locking us both in a room of our own making. His lips part, and before I can do anything, mine do too, and he's tilting his head to gain better access to my mouth. I am suddenly aware that my hands are resting in my lap, clenched together in a rough knot. What am I supposed to do with them?

Hesitantly, I set them lightly on his shoulders. He groans into my mouth and a light shiver runs down my spine. He is solid and warm and tastes like mango. "Clary," he murmurs against my lips. My fingers curl into his shirt, drawing him closer, our breathing becoming faster and faster -

"Okay, what is this?" A voice, loud and steely, sounds from across the room. I gasp, pulling my mouth from Jace's, and shove him away as hard as I possibly can. He trips backwards and catches himself on the table. Someone stands in the darkness of the kitchen, until the room floods with witchlight. Someone with black hair and black eyes I'd recognize anywhere. When did he dye his hair black? _Jonathan._

I hide my shock at seeing him and put on what I hope is a confused expression. Jace stands with his arms crossed. "Who are you?" he says roughly.

Jonathan's black eyes flick to me, emotionless, before settling on Jace. "I'm Sebastian Verlac. I'm visiting the Institute for a short time while my parents are on a mission for the Clave." A cold smile takes over his face. "Now, what's going on here?"

"Nothing," I say, and even to my own ears my voice sounds cold and unforgiving. Jace's eyes widen. "Jace was just leaving," I say, and a hollow feeling fills my chest at the pain that flashes in his golden irises, quickly replaced by a blank stare. Jace doesn't say another thing, just gets up and leaves the room.

Jonathan crosses the room before I can process it and stands so close to me that I can feel his cool breath on my face when he talks. "Clarissa, what were you doing with him?" His voice is disgusted.

"I don't know, it just happened!"

Jonathan grips my upper arms with his strong arms. "Clarissa. Clary." His voice has calmed down a little bit. "I can see that Father did not tell you."

A feeling of cold dread blossoms in my chest. "Tell me what?"

His black eyes glint. "Jace is our brother, the one Father raised away from us."

"You're lying!" I cry at him, the hot sting of tears burning in my eyes. Did I just kiss my _brother?_ One tear escapes and traces its way down my cheek.

Jonathan shakes his head at me. "When have I ever lied to you, Clarissa?" He pulls me from the counter. "Jace doesn't know. He thinks he was raised by Michael Wayland. And it would do you well not to tell him."

I wring out my hands. "I won't. No, of course not." I give myself a moment to compose myself. "What are you doing here?"

He smiles a little bit. "I'm undercover, same as you. The Lightwoods have known the Verlacs for quite some time, but haven't seen dear Sebastian for a long time. So here I came." Jonathan reaches forwards and brushes my hair back off of my shoulders. "I will not tell Father what you did," he tells me.

"Thank you," I say, and my voice is small.

I let Jonathan walk me back to my bedroom in silence. He pauses at the door. "What is it?" I ask him.

"Just remember that you are mine, little sister. Good night."

* * *

 **Sorry this took so long. I had it mostly written but was giving myself some time. A boy I've known pretty well for the past six years committed suicide. He was dating one of my really good friends, so it's been pretty tough for the past week. I just want all of you to remember that you are loved and cared about by so many people, and that life is a gift. If any of you ever need to talk, please do not hesitate to shoot me a message. Even if you feel alone, know that you are not. Treasure your life and spread love 3**


	7. Chapter 7

_You terrify me_

 _When you talk about your dreams_

 _\- "Dreams" by Grace Joyner_

* * *

 _"Clary," Jace murmurs. I look down at myself. A heavy, moss green velvet dress drapes from my shoulders, brushing my toes. My ears, fingers, and neck are weighed down by low hanging jewels that glimmer like poisoned fruit in the soft light. My red hair is pulled up off of my shoulders in a spiraling bun that allows a few strands to brush along my cheekbones. Jace stands before me while a dancing crowd swirls around us, stepping in beat to a song that almost sounds familiar. He wears simple black pants and a white shirt so thin his runes show through._

 _Before I can respond, his hands wrap around my waist and we are dancing. In time with the music, he allows me to drift around him, always staying within the circle of his arm. His palms press against the small of my back and I gasp when I find myself pressed against him. The other dancers continue their steady waltz around us, but Jace holds me still in his embrace. "Clary, look at me," he says, and his voice is pure honey._

 _I do. His golden eyes are so bright they almost hurt to look at. I feel my heart catch, and I know that I should not feel this way at all - not when Jace is my brother. A tough knot wrenches in my chest and I push him back. "We can't," I tell him, and my voice is not my own. It carries the deeper tones of an older woman, rich with experience and age._

 _"May nothing part me from you," he murmurs. "For if you won't have me, there is no point at all."_

 _I swallow. "No point in what?"_

 _Jace gives me a conflicting look and leans in, capturing my lips with his. I gasp and my hands fist at his chest, about to shove him away, but I can't. Instead, they tighten around the fabric of his shirt, balling the thin material in my sweaty fingers. He is warm and solid against me, and I feel a slow warmth spread through each nerve, as well as a tingling nervousness that I barely feel beyond the pounding of my heart. My lips part and so do his. Jace groans into the kiss and I feel the rush of cold air on my skin._

 _When my eyes open, we are alone, and my dress is replaced with a filmy white slip that feels as light as the wind. Jace, too, is dressed simply in white, flowing clothes. He pulls back from my lips. "That's the way you greet your brother?" he says, but when he speaks, his voice is Jonathan's. I recoil and a blossom of red starts at Jace's heart and spreads across his chest, staining his shirtfront with crimson._

 _"Jace?" I cry, but the color has drained from his face. He falls forwards, limp and bloody, and Jonathan stands behind him wearing all red._

 _"Dear sister," he says with a smile. "It is just us, you and me. The last of the Morgensterns." He steps closer and I see that he is not wearing red, but white stained with blood._

 _I scream._

I wake in a cold sweat from the same nightmare that has been plaguing me for the past few nights. Sunlight streams through the window to my bedroom. I pull my hair up into a bun and stick it through with a pencil. I roll out of the bed, ignoring the hammering pulse in my wrists, and tug on a pair of Isabelle's pants and a black sweatshirt. I absolutely need new clothes.

I skim my fingers along the wall of the hallway and stop when I hear voices in the kitchen. Jace and Alec.

"- and I'm telling you, Alec. Something weird is going on. I don't like that Sebastian guy."

Alec takes his time responding. "He seems nice enough, Jace. He's really close with the Penhallows, and the Verclacs have always been a righteous shadowhunter family."

"No," says Jace, with a hint of stubborn fire in his voice. "There's something...off about him. Something wrong."

My hands curl into fists at my side. Nothing is wrong with Jonathan. I feel an intense rush of annoyance at Jace. _My brother._ The annoyance turns to ice in my veins and I shiver involuntarily. "Well, something's up with the girl, too." Alec says.

"Nothing is up with Clary," says Jace. "She just needs time. Anyways, if what she says is true and Valentine really is back..."

The rest of his words turn to dust in my ears. I messed up. Father's voice rings in my head. _Tell them a man who killed Valentine killed your mother._ But I didn't. I told them Valentine did.

That must be why Jonathan's here. I feel tears welling in my eyes and let them fall. I should be acting miserable anyways, if my mother was killed. I walk into the kitchen, effectively cutting off whatever Alec was saying to Jace. They both look at me in surprise. Alec's face is sheepish, while Jace has set a cold mask over his fine features. I pour myself a mug of coffee and sit on a stool.

"Are those Izzy's?" Jace asks, eyeing my pants. They look ridiculous on me - they are the type of tight pants meant to flatter the figure, but on me they hang too loose in the thighs, knees, and ankles, giving me the appearance of a deflated balloon. I nod. Jace's eyes flicker. "We should take you out to buy you some new clothes," he says, not meeting my eyes. It's been like that, since the night we kissed - each of us tiptoeing around the other.

"Okay," I say. The coffee here at the Institute is terrible, but I drink it anyways. Jonathan walks into the kitchen, his newly dyed hair perfectly styled. He wears an easy grin.

"Morning!" he calls to the kitchen. Alec nods to him and Jace mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "go back to sleep."

Our eyes meet over the space and he smirks, grabbing a muffin from the countertop and peeling the paper off of the pastry. "So...today then?" I ask, looking down at my clothes.

"Yeah. I can take you," suggests Jace.

"Take her where?" Jonathan chimes in.

Jace and Jonathan lock gazes for a long moment and I swallow. _My brothers._ "She needs new clothes," says Jace flatly, before turning back to me. "I'm going to take her."

"New clothes?" Isabelle walks into the kitchen, already dressed for the day in a pair of tight black jeans and a black sweater expertly torn to show her pale skin. "I am in. Who for? Alec?" She looks her brother up and down. "The Angel knows you need my help."

Alec glares at her. "No. For Clary."

Isabelle claps her hands together. "Oh, finally. No offense, but you look absolutely dreadful in my clothes."

"None taken," I mutter into my mug. Jonathan casts an amused glance in my direction.

Jace scowls. "Well, I'm taking her."

Isabelle scoffs. "Absolutely not! C'mon, out of all of us, who knows the difference between olive and army green? You people astound me." She locks arms with me, and I can't help but to smile a little at her enthusiasm.

"I could use some new clothes too," Jonathan chimes in. "I didn't bring much from Paris."

Jace's look turns incidentally more murderous. "Why would you want to go on a women's shopping trip, Sebastian?" he asks.

Jonathan smiles. "I simply need new clothes. That's all."

"Great! Me, Clary, and Sebby will go shopping, and you and Alec can train," Isabelle says with a grin.

"Sebby?" says Jonathan, mystified, at the same time as Jace says, "Fine."

Isabelle grins broadly at us all. "What would you do without me?" she sighs. She glances at the kitchen clock. "We'll leave in fifteen minutes." She twirls out of the kitchen, her electrum bracelet catching the light as she goes.

Jace shakes his head, mutters something unintelligible, and leaves the room. "Nice chat," Alec says, following him out. Jonathan crosses the room in two quick strides and sits on the stool next to mine. Up close, he smells like the lavender soap of the Institute.

"I messed up, didn't I?" I sigh to Jonathan. He plucks my mug of coffee from my fingers and takes a long sip. "Hey!" I protest, snatching it back.

Jonathan wipes off his lips on the back of his hand. "Only a bit, little sister," he says. "I didn't tell Father, by the way. I simply...resumed the persona of Sebastian to gloss things over and keep it back on track."

"Why didn't you tell Father?" I say. "He would understand."

The grin fades from Jonathan's lips. "Father," he says, and his voice is just shy of a snarl, "is not a very understanding person." I blink blankly at him. Anytime I broke something in the house, or tore my clothes, or stained the bedsheets with paint or ink, Father would brush it off as if it were nothing. But suddenly my mind goes to the basement I wasn't allowed to go to, manacles on the walls, the white tile floor curving down towards a drain...

"What did he do to you?" I ask, so quietly I'm surprised he hears me at all.

Jonathan twists his hands savagely in front of him. "I'm not like you," he says. Before I can ask him what he means, he continues. "Father experimented on me, before I was born. He made me...bad." His black eyes, if possible, darken. "He wanted to make a shadowhunter who was better and stronger than any other. So he made me."

"How..." I trail off.

His dark gaze locks to mine. "You, he didn't mean to make," he says softly. "You're the opposite of me, you know. He gave you extra."

"Extra what?"

Jonathan smiles a little, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Angel blood."

My heart drops. Extra angel blood? But then, what does Jonathan have? He answers before I ask. "And he gave me demon blood. Demon blood, Clarissa. Let me show you something."

He pulls my hand towards him and flips out his stele. Before I can react, he's inked a quick rune onto my hand and my vision blurs.

 _A boy and a man hike up the grassy hillside, their silvery blonde hair rippling in time with the wind. "Father!" cries the little boy. He is dressed in gear and has strangely dark eyes. "Is my mother ever coming back?"_

 _"No, Jonathan," says the man, settling into the long grasses. The boy sits next to him, eyes wide. "She isn't ever coming back."_

 _The little boy's shoulders curl forwards with sadness. "Is she dead?" he asks, his voice small. "Dead means never coming back."_

 _"No. She isn't dead." The man leans back on his elbows and studies the sky. The boy trails his fingers through the grasses, agitation making his small fingers shaky. He finds a beetle and crushes it between his thumb and forefinger._

 _"Then why did she go away?"_

 _The man flicks his gaze to the young boy. "Because of you. Because there's something wrong with you."_

 _The boy gasps and curls his fingers into the grass, pulling out clumps of the plants in his fists. His vision begins to blur, but the tears don't fall. Father told him that shadowhunters don't cry. When he cries, Father gets out the whip whose lashes can't be fixed, even with iratzes. "Can you fix me...?" he asks. All he's ever wanted is a mother, the gentle to Father's tough._

 _"Nothing can make her love you, J," says the man. His voice is bitter. "Only I love you. Only I can love a monster. Do you understand?"_

 _The boy does not meet his father's eyes. Instead, he looks at the small cuts his nails made in his palms when he made his fists. "Yes," he says._

I gasp as I sit up in my stool again. Jonathan is watching me closely, and my eyes flick down to my hand, where he drew the rune. All that remains is a faint silver line. "Jonathan. That was you."

"Yes," he says. "Me and Father. Before you came."

My heart aches. Jonathan is many things, but he is not a monster. _Can you trust something with demon blood?_ the voice in my head hisses. I ignore it. "You're not a monster, Jonathan," I say stubbornly.

He tucks my hair behind my ears. "Father was wrong," he says. "He said only he could love me. But you love me, don't you, Clary?" His black eyes are wide, and there is something in his voice - a lonely ache. He doesn't think I do. He doesn't think Father does.

"Yes," I say softly. "Yes, you're my brother, Jonathan. Of course."

He exhales deeply. "Father always said that you had the endless capacity to be good. I see that he was right about that."

"Did he hurt you?" I ask, knowing the answer already.

"He has a demon metal whip," is all Jonathan says. I get up and look at him. When he is sitting and I am standing, we are almost the same height.

I shiver. "Jonathan?" I replay the words of the conversation in my head. "Is our mother...is she alive?"

He opens his mouth to answer, but Isabelle bounces into the room. Oblivious to the conversation, she beams at us.

"Ready to go?"

* * *

 **Long chapter guys. We made it through. For those of you wondering, Jonathan's flashback scene was based on a comic by Cassandra Jean about young Sebastian and Valentine. The comic always breaks my heart. It's available on the Shadowhunters Wiki in both Valentine and Sebastian's character galleries. I was feeling like giving Izzy some love too, so here you go! Be ready for an Izzy-and-Sebastian heavy chapter next up.**


	8. Chapter 8

_Don't know what you were getting yourself into_

 _You should have known, secretly I think you knew_

 _\- "Beggin For Thread" by Banks_

* * *

I lift myself onto my tiptoes and scan the crowded shopping center for the raven colored hair that belongs to Isabelle. Her familiar face is nowhere in sight, and hasn't been for the past half hour. I scowl and lower myself back onto my feet. Trust her to run off somewhere and leave me. I suppose I could go find Jonathan, but he's gone too. Mundanes swirl around me in a never ending flood. I wonder, with a sudden pang, what life would be like if all I had to worry about was whether or not burgundy looked good on me. The girls who look around my age here have their faces painted brightly and wear easy smiles. I don't think I could ever look like that, even if I wanted to.

Then it hits me. I've never been out on my own before. Every time I went out, it was either on a mission with Father or supervised by Jonathan. I'm free. It's not a very familiar feeling. I quickly jam the bag of clothes I bought into my new olive green backpack before swinging the bag onto my shoulders. It bounces between my shoulder blades with each step. I glance down at my phone. Isabelle has not called me back.

I quickly push my way through the crowd until it thins. I leave, walking out onto the cold street. A heavy wind picks up old plastic bags and twists them like deformed geese in the gray sky. Taxis veer by, splattering those near the curb with blackened snow. The undeniable scent of city and cold wind hang in the air. Suddenly, something slams into me from behind, sending me falling towards the sidewalk. The sky is dark - the sun has gone down. "Jesus!" I gasp.

I twist my arm back, my hand meeting a soft coat, and flip the object over my shoulder. It hits the ground with a gasp. "No, it's just me," says a voice. "Though I've been told the resemblance is startling. I'm sorry. Didn't realize there were ninjas out today," A boy stares up at me from the sidewalk. He has glasses hanging crookedly from his nose, tousled brown hair, and brown eyes with a good-natured gleam to them.

I scoff. "Don't be ridiculous," I tell him.

He jumps to his feet, brushing snow off of himself. "Well. I have to say. Out of all the times I've bumped into someone on the sidewalk, this has been the most exciting." He holds out a hand. I warily shake it. "I'm Simon. Simon Lewis."

"Oh," I say in reply. He is, most definitely, a mundane. He has the sort of softness to him you never see in shadowhunters or downworlders.

He raises an eyebrow. I've never been able to do that. "No name? Guess it's not my lucky day," he says.

"Clary," I say, before I can stop myself. He just seems so helpless, like a kitten or a lost duckling.

He looks down at my wrist, where my coat rolled up. "Cool tattoo," he says. I remember that I'm not glamoured and gasp, pulling down my sleeve hurriedly.

"It's not-" I start, but someone grabs me from behind. I try to kick back, but whoever is there is lightning fast and dodges my blow. Heavy arms clamp around me. _Vampire,_ I think.

Simon's eyes are wide. "Hey, what-" he says, before being cut off. I see that I'm right. Another vampire has grabbed him, one with a dull gleam in her blue eyes. The one holding me quickly binds my wrists. I curse the Institute for not letting me carry weapons, saying I am untrained. I would show them.

"Shadowhunter," says the vampire holding me. She has pale blonde hair, a bit like Jonathan's, curled softly over her pale shoulders. "Why, I haven't tasted the blood of the angels in centuries." She licks her lips. _Downworlder filth._

"How did you know?" I ask.

She smiles at me. "Well, Mark the Mundie here pointed it out," she coos.

"My name's Simon," says the mundane. "Let go of us!"

The blonde vampire just laughs, her fangs catching the light. "Oh, I love mundanes. Quaint, aren't they? Now come. We can't do this is the middle of the street."

"You can't do it at all," I hiss at her. "I'm a shadowhunter. Do you have an idea what will happen to you if-"

"You are a shadowhunter with one rune, no weapons, and no stele," says the vampire. "You were not glamoured. You are clearly not a documented shadowhunter. No one will know." She grabs me and runs. I forgot how fast vampires are - within seconds, we are at the back of an alley.

"Woah, woah, woah," Simon says. "Look, I have $36 in my wallet. And you can take my phone. No need to cause any trouble." He flashes what I'm sure he thinks is a winning smile.

The blonde vampire laughs. "Honey, money is common and tastes terrible. Blood is all I desire." She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "I am Camille Belcourt, and this is Bertha." The vampire holding Simon grins, showing her fangs.

"You can't," I tell them, before Camille slams a hand over my mouth.

"Hush," she snarls. "I hate it when my food talks back."

Simon's eyes widen as Bertha snaps her fangs into his neck. Camille tilts her head to the side. "He'd make a cute vampire," she says, almost thoughtfully. "Give him some of your own as well."

Bertha watches as he crumples to the ground. "Yes, he will." She uses her teeth to tear open her wrist and drips her blood into Simon's parted lips. A bit trickles down his chain, staining it in scarlet, and I almost retch.

I struggle against the wrist restraints. Camille's nails sink into my upper arms. "Now, shadowhunter, it's your turn. I just know you'll taste sweet." Her fangs slide against my neck, and then she is wrenched away from me.

I look up to see Jonathan, his blade blazing in one hand and Camille held fast in the other. "It's your turn, downworld filth," he says in a confidently savage tone. I sag back against the bricks, wrists straining against the wrist confines. Bertha springs at him but Jonathan is faster - he severs her head from her body and whirls to meet Camille. Her eyes are wide with what could only be fear.

"I've lived for centuries," she says in a shaking voice. "You can't-" But Jonathan has no mercy. His mouth twists into a disturbing smile as he runs his blade across her neck, then over her body again and again, letting Camille's blood stain his clothes and spread across the cement. The thick air smells of blood and steel. I gasp. There is something savage in Jonathan's eyes, but their is also a twisted joy staining his black irises. Jonathan lets out a light laugh and kicks Bertha's head away, driving his sword into her headless corpse until she no longer resembles the woman who stood before. His eyes flick to mine.

"Clarissa," he says simply, and cuts the restraints on my wrists.

"Jonathan," I say back. All I can picture is his smile, his laugh, as he laid his blade on Camille and Bertha so many times, enough that their blood lapped up to settle around my shoes.

He brushes hair from his forehead, leaving behind a streak of red. "Oh, we can't forget the mundane," he says, turning and lifting his blade.

"Jonathan, _stop."_ My voice shakes on the way out.

He looks up, shocked. "Clarissa," he repeats. "He's been bitten. He's had vampire blood. He's going to turn." His sword prods at Simon's cheek. My stomach turns.

"Just...don't. Please." I hear the slight whine my voice has taken on. I am almost afraid. Of Jonathan, maybe. His ivory face is splattered with dark blood, his clothes soaked in it, his blade positively drenched. It is as he is in my nightmares.

His mouth tightens into a hard white line. "Of course. For you, dear sister." He wipes his sword off on the outside of his pants, though it only helps to smear blood across the blade. I shiver. He made sport of killing the vampires. It was not just about saving me - it was as if it was a game.

"What happened here?" Isabelle shrieks, appearing behind me. Her eyes flick to Jonathan, blood soaked and grinning, and then to me.

Jonathan speaks before I can. "Clary was attacked by vampires. They put up quite a fight, but I was able to take care of them."

Not that they had the opportunity to put up a fight.

"Can we go?" I ask, not wanting Isabelle to catch sight of Simon's fallen body. After seeing so much blood spilled, I can't imagine watching Jonathan kill him as well. Scarlet stains the insides of my eyelids when I blink.

"Yeah, of course," Isabelle says softly. As she and Jonathan leave the alley, I see a flicker of movement in the shadows. I catch the eye of a young boy behind one of the dumpsters and hang slightly back. By his light pallor and dark eyes, I can see that he is a vampire too. We both look down at Simon's broken form.

"Take him," I say.

We walk back to the Institute, and Isabelle draws a glamour rune on me. "We could never hail a taxi with Sebastian looking like that," she sighs to me as we make our way down the sidewalk. It's a bit of long walk, and by the time we get there my feet ache and I could use a drink of water.

Alec and Jace intercept us as we walk in. "Hodge is sick in bed and -" Alec breaks off as he catches sight of us. "Izzy! What happened?"

She launches into the story and I sag back against the wall. My head is throbbing and there's a distinctly sick feeling in my gut. I feel Jace's golden gaze on me but don't dare to look up and meet his eyes. I can't look at him, think about him, without remembering the rush of the feeling of his lips on mine. I cannot feel that way about him. I have to stay as far away from him as possible. I murmur something about a shower and slip away to my bedroom.

I collapse onto my bed, tossing my backpack onto the floor. The door to my room opens and I look up. Jonathan walks in, shutting the door behind him. He still wears his bloody clothes, but it has dried into a brownish crust across his skin. "You're alright?" he asks.

"Yes, I'm fine." I shiver. He comes and kneels on the floor in front of me, his black eyes wide and searching.

He pulls something from his pocket and presses it to my knee. "I got you something," he says. He lifts his hand from my knee and I take the object. It's a silver bracelet with an engraving - _Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo._

"'If I cannot move heaven, I will raise Hell'," I translate.

Jonathan smiles and slips the bracelet onto my wrist. "Remember that, little sister," he says. The metal of the bracelet is cool against my skin, but his fingers are warm, so warm that they feel feverish. "Remember that in the end, it will be you and me and the world."

"Jon?" I ask, before I can lose the nerve. He lifts his eyes to mine. "Why did you kill those vampires?"

He laughs, a light and airy sound. "Because," he says, as if it's obvious. "They touched you."

* * *

 **Sorry this chapter took so long! Summer's started and I've been busy not going to school. Ha. Haha.**

 **I'm at camp right now but figured I should knock out a chapter while I can. I also found a way to wriggle Simon into the story - I'm glad, he's one of my favorite characters. Also, I am just extremely pumped because the Clace scene from City of Ashes made an appearance on Shadowhunters! Episode 2x14 was incredible and amazing and I thoroughly enjoyed it. We also got to see my favorite little blonde demon show his evil side at last!**

 **Hope you all enjoyed, as usual, leave a review if you're feeling nice. Until next time!**


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